Monday, 16 December 2013
This is what you do – isn’t it?
Don’t you pick it up & carry on?
Where else would you take it to but here?
And what do you expect from this then?
Why isn’t this shut down as pleasure?
Isn’t this wavelike repetition much too formal?
And why the fuck the fighting stallions then?
Aren’t you here dark & lost again?
Why doesn’t the outsideness press in more?
How come this heap of stones is the world?
And is just whatever comes good enough then?
Is that the wound you’re talking about?
Are all these ridiculous people really lovable?
Didn’t they turn some world into this heap of stones?
Why the fuck do you carry on accepting this?And isn’t that wound what you are then?
Sunday, 15 December 2013
to shut down at last
formal like a wave
grips & bites
see the fighting stallions!
dark & lost
here! we may be
dark and lost
some map of what it isn’t
unfigurable a heap of stones
a heap of words
out of it
a world whatever comes
to be just
let’s open all our hearts
wound unhealed or held
Saturday, 14 December 2013
OK then let’s open all out hearts
to a world welcoming whatever comes
and after that? oh really, this is so mysterious
unfigurable & blatant, yeah, a heap of stones
an outsideness that closes us into the necessity of fun
here! bouncing about in borrowed clothes we may be
or splintering in city light or some dappled glade
that’ll last us until the garrotte grips & bites
shutting down to engrave our last entoptic patternings
multifarious & formal (like a wave or dancing bear
oh this is a dear little bit of our universe, yes?)
if I don’t know any other, please tell me more
how our shared illusions enmesh & we grow around
our damaged hearts may heal & hold
Friday, 13 December 2013
& here we are
all of a sudden
in this new land
playing like little kittens
Petrus means the stone
a cruel bomb exploded
modern life’s conveniences abound
time to write now!
and what comes after?
sunshine, sun and rain
fluffy clouds bubble up
being human ain’t everything
you could end this
could end it now
you won’t will you?
dumb like a stone
pietro duro e brutto
I love this language
sunshine bouncing off cars
time dilation for ever
borrowed clothes, big strides
money in my pocket
wearing my lucky coat
howl at many fashions
poetry is a relief
not to resemble oneself
light bounces bright & low
did I invite photophobia
at this it comes
shaking out gory locks
I didn’t imagine it
the end of days
the little bears play
I like their music
nearly time to stop
the light bounces too
any wave will break
let it all bounce
we’re near the endjust ask which one
Thursday, 12 December 2013
Here, in this world
then a wait
Cock of ages
crow for me
The people who would come after
would not be real
You could end this at once
Questi frammenti . . . certo, ed anche gli aforismi
He strode out in Sean Bonney’s clothes
finding then one stray tenner in the pocket
the dark neat jacket suddenly blessed
extraordinary how the mimetic functions!
“But in the case of poetry it’s often a relief not to possess that old desideratum, ‘a voice’, and not to resemble oneself.”
Denise Riley, The Words of Selves: Identification, solidarity, irony (Stanford UP, 2001), p 62
At this point in our ending
here comes the spatter pattern
– I always imagine it
Bouncing on the bed with bears
At this point
in our ending
a bigger crash